


Case File 039: The One with The Cough Medicine

by DimeStoreMystery (wrightgotwronged)



Series: From The Desk of Dorian Pavus [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian Pavus is basically Jessica Jones with a Mustache, Multi, Murder Mystery, Private Investigator AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrightgotwronged/pseuds/DimeStoreMystery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Private Investigator Dorian Pavus, solves a murder, raises the dead and falls in love (though not particularly in that order).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Begin at an Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all that have stumbled upon this humble fic of mine! Finally after months of planning and panic the first chapter of this fic is finally out into the world! 
> 
> I wanna thank coveredinfeels for being the best cheerleader anyone can ask for! Without her this fic wouldn't even have seen the light of day!!

Dorian never liked morgues. Not because of the dead, honestly that was the most comforting part of the whole ordeal. Death never bothered him, it was actually quite fascinating, how it could still the most lively and quick people. Morgues though, Dorian never liked morgues. They were dreadful places, riddled with a stench of ammonia that never seemed to leave your skin after Maker knows how many showers. The staff as if they were once the corpses that laid in the metal drawers, reanimated and fluffed a bit. The mess that the fluorescent bulbs made of his complexion didn’t help either. Yet, once again, he found himself in the basement of the Skyhold mortuary, as he was most Sundays. The only silver lining of this — if you can even call it that — was that, in the very least, he was not alone during this visit.

“Well?” The woman gestured at the body on the table. “Do you need an invitation?”

She stood with her back rigid, but not in discomfort; strength and poise came naturally to her, as if she was birthed in parade rest. Her eager eyes scanned the cadaver, her face still. It was as if she was reading newspaper or a particularly thrilling book, not examining the fine details of a corpse.

“If only the dead were so considerate, Detective Pentaghast,” Dorian replied. “I don’t think I’d RSVP, if that were the case.”

Detective Pentaghast rolled her eyes. “You are not funny, Tevinter.” 

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

The body seemed to be that of a woman. Long blonde hair fell right above her breasts, porcelain skin was tinged with purple along the edges. She looked around Dorian’s age, perhaps a bit older. Nowhere near her time, yet not young enough that her death would seem unfairly tragic.

“Do we know the cause of death?” Dorian glanced up from the body “Forgive me, my eye for anatomy isn’t as keen as yours, Detective.”

“Even if it was, you would not be able to tell so easily,” she replied, voice calm and casual. “It was an allergic reaction, to a common form of lyrium it seems.”

“It’s used in some cough medicines isn’t it?” he asked, voice flat and unamused. “You called me down here because of an allergic reaction to cough medicine? With all due respect Detective Pentaghast, I cannot seem to understand why you needed me. Unless, it’s because you miss my handsome face.”

“Do you think I would willingly spend time with you without reason? As if I don’t have better ways to spend my weekends?”

“Detective Pentaghast, you wound me!” Dorian placed a hand over his chest in mock offense “Here I thought we had a good rapport.”

“This is Justice Celene Valmont, age 36.” She ignored the quip, getting back to business. “She was found dead in her office at 8:25 am by custodial staff. Celene’s allergy to common lyrium was well known and there were traces of generic cough medicine in her coffee cup.”

“And common lyrium is a known active ingredient in offbrand cough medicine, Celene would not have ingested it, even by mistake. And yet, who in their right mind would poison a judge, especially one as prominent as Justice Valmont?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow. Celene Valmont was a personal favorite in Orlesian courts. Even though she had her dissenters, as anyone in any sort of power can expect, Dorian couldn’t fathom of anyone hating her enough to poison her.

“That is why we are here. It seems that the Department requires your...skills once again, Mr. Pavus. Right now, the district attorney wants us working discreetly seeing how sensitive the case is.”

“Why Detective Pentaghast,” Dorian smirked, “was that humility I heard in your voice?”

His relationship with Detective Cassandra Pentaghast was, to put it simply, complicated. To put it less simply, he owed her his life, she owed him cash. Well, the Skyhold Police Department owed him cash, but Detective Pentaghast was an extension of the Department, the same way a hand was the extension of one’s arm — or maybe a fist would be a more appropriate example.

“Don’t push it.” She crossed her arms. “Now will you get on with it?”

“It will be my pleasure.”

Dorian rolled up his sleeves. Stretching out his hands, he rubbed his palms together. An arbitrary ritual, really, yet the warmth from the friction felt as if magic was tingling in the tips of his fingers, though any mage that was worth much of anything knew that that wasn’t how it worked. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He rolled his shoulders on the exhale, simply stalling for time at this point. Whether it was to simply annoy Cassandra or genuine reluctance was anyone’s guess, honestly. 

“Do you have your watch ready, Detective?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on Celene’s neck.

She nodded, her eyes focused on the watch on her wrist. “One minute exactly, same as always.”

Dorian whispered a simple incantation. The words didn’t mean much of anything technically. They were a mental switch, a way to focus Dorian’s mind, commanding it to focus the power from the fade into his fingertips. It seemed silly in the moment, but it did keep him from accidentally reanimating the corpses of flies or setting the drapes on fire in polite company.

Electricity exploded from his fingertips, and the body of Justice Celene Valmont began to convulse on the metal table. Dorian took a step back, while Detective Pentaghast looked on, completely unfazed by the sequence of events.

“Briala!” Celene gasped. “Maker, I must’ve gotten caught up.”

“Justice Celene,” Dorian greeted, quickly springing into action. “We are so sorry for holding you, you remember Detective Pentaghast, yes?” He gestures in Cassandra’s direction, who gave a small wave in greeting. “We do not have much time so it is imperative that you cooperate with us.”

“What’s going on? Detective Pentaghast, why are you and your Private Investigator in my office?” 

There was always some miscommunication between the living and the dead. The dead couldn’t figure out their surroundings or make sense of things they did not gather. Death in and of itself, was similar to a marriage with the deepest of sleeps. If someone as lively as Dorian could awake in a dumpster after being in a drunken stupor and still believe he was in his local bar, then of course Celene would see herself in her office as opposed to naked on a cold metal table in the local morgue.

“Justice Valmont,” Cassandra said, giving her an uneasy smile, “we are very sorry for the interruption. Yet we must ask you a few questions.”

“Well certainly you must hurry,” she huffed, “I was conversing with the Assistant District Attorney before they had to step out.”

“What exactly were you meeting with the ADA for?” Dorian asked, hoping to glean some sort of information out of her.

“What does it matter to you? No matter, I am late for a dinner across town. I’ve already kept my guest waiting for much too long.” She moved to get off of the table, before Cassandra stopped her by placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Wait,” she said, looking over at Dorian. “We will only trouble you for another...30 seconds.”

“Detective Pentaghast!” She tried to fight back against Cassandra, but her grip was unyielding. “If you know what is good for you, you will remove your hand or I will contact Chief Montilyet.”

“Please, Justice Valmont, we don’t have much time and your cooperation will help us greatly,” Dorian insisted, attempting to diffuse the situation.

“Surely your questions can wait,” Celene scoffed, “I have a very important trial tomorrow and a very important dinner tonight that I must be off to.”

Dorian nodded. “One last question and then we’ll let you go.”

“Fine, Mister Pavus, I will allow you one final question before I see to your metaphorical  castration by your current employer.”

Dorian nods. “A kindness I am gratefully appreciative of.” 

Celene sits back on the table, eyeing Dorian suspiciously. Dorian could feel the air thickening around him, the sound of Cassandra’s watch rang in his ears.

“Do you know of anyone who’d want you dead?” he asked.

“That’s your question?” She laughed, a dark and foreboding noise tumbled from her lips. “Andraste’s tits, I’m a judge. Asking who’d want me dead is like asking for the amount of frilly cakes I ingested on any given Saturday night: numerous and frankly I do not care enough to count them all.”

Dorian sighed, placing a hand on Celene’s shoulder; a comforting gesture. “I had a feeling you’d say exactly that.”

“Ten seconds,” Cassandra whispered, a firm reminder.

Celene glanced at the hand placed on her shoulder. “This matters, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t matter. You’re not stupid.”

“Another kindness you have granted me. It surely will not be forgotten,” Dorian said before murmuring the incantation again. There was a tingle in his fingertips as he felt Celene’s skin, once again go cold. As she fell limp, Cassandra caught her with gentle hands and laid her back onto the table. To avoid suspicion, she rearranged her to where she looked identical to the way they had found her.

“Are we cruel, Dorian?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought we promised each other we wouldn’t think too deeply about this, Detective.” “It does not take too much thinking to know we are playing with fire.” She pushed Celene’s drawer shut.

“This is not the first time we’ve done this Cassandra,” he sighed. “That Justice Valmont wasn’t the woman she was when she died. She was a whisper, a memory. Bits of sagging skin and rotting organs, held together by rudimentary magic. Ten more seconds alive and she would’ve collapsed into dust...or worse.”

“I understand that this power comes easily to you,” she conceded, folding her hands at her waist, “but surely you understand that this was beyond our place of reasoning two years ago.”

“Yes, yes,” He scoffed. “When the department saved this damp dumpster nug of a necromancer.”

“What I am saying is, it is very important that we finish this case quickly, and discreetly. All eyes will be on the department and the fact that we are in correspondence with a necromancer of Tevinter will seem rather…”

“Dodgy,” he chimed.

“Controversial,” she corrected. “Mr. Pavus, I have testified to your usefulness to Chief Montilyet and her supervisors on numerous occasions. I would not have done that if I did not believe it in its entirety. With that said — ”

“You have my word, Cassandra.” He gave her the tiniest of smiles. “I will not make you regret having me under your employ.”

“I am a woman of many things, Dorian.” She clapped him once on the shoulder, her carefully hidden strength revealing itself. “Regretfullness is not one of them.” 

 


	2. Breakfast and Banter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to alphabetiful for coming in clutch with the last minute edits!

Dorian’s relationship with sleep was, similar to his relationship with death, complicated. The term “complicated” was a bit of an understatement, but if he went into any more detail it would require blocking out 3 hours in his schedule and at least two bottles of his favorite brandy. As you can imagine, it was quite an expensive practice. To put it simply, Dorian Pavus’s bouts of unconsciousness came similarly to calls from one’s extended family, randomly and with no bearing on convenient time or place. 

Dorian had fully accepted this fact. Of all of the inconveniences he’d come across, his inability to sleep like a normal human being was surprisingly low on this list. Unfortunately, inconveniences related to his unorthodox sleeping habits tended to stack upon each other in the same way crates do on a freight ship.

Dorian was snoozing happily with his face buried into the crook of his elbow, it being his first deep sleep in about 28 hours. A ceramic dish landed next to his ear, the sound startling him out of his stupor. He shot up, quickly glancing around.

Dorian’s eyes were assaulted with a white — no, blue blinding fluorescent light. He blinked a few times, realizing the light itself wasn’t blue, but simply the light reflecting off of the garishly sky blue colored walls of the establishment he found himself in. The sound of a droll tv newscast and classical rock melded together into some form of obnoxious soundtrack of vintage novelty. A familiar odor of coffee grounds and grease hung in the air, instilling a feeling of hunger deep in the pit of Dorian’s stomach. A cold linoleum countertop brought a welcome chill to the palms of his hands. His sleep addled mind finally put together that he was in familiar territory, an old diner whose name he could never quite remember. His eyes spotted the ceramic plate, sitting next to a half empty coffee mug.

“What in Andraste’s name is this?” he grumbled, running his hand through his sleep mussed hair.

“Breakfast,” a rough, yet soothing voice replied.

Dorian looked away from the plate, eyes fixing on the Qunari who stood at the counter. The Qunari was, as all Qunari were, rather broad and tall with large, cumbersome horns growing out of his head. He’d be an imposing presence if Dorian didn’t know better.

The Qunari’s features were angled and sharp, yet had a softness to them. Dorian noticed each laugh and smirk was punctuated by a crinkling of crow’s feet around his eyes and lips. Strong, muscular arms were accentuated by his unnecessarily tight v-neck. But it was not as though Dorian thought of the Qunari’s features daily; that’d be absurd.

“This isn’t my usual.” Dorian gestured to the plate, consisting of eggs over easy, bacon and two pieces of toast. “If I didn’t know better, Bull, I’d say you were losing your touch.”

The Qunari, Bull as he liked to be called (even though Dorian did not believe that was even close to his real name), became a valuable ally to Dorian just as swiftly as Detective Pentaghast. Bull was a retired cop that took ownership of the small diner shortly after the original owner passed away; from what Dorian had heard, the place was a watering hole for most of the police officers employed in the district, and Bull wanted to keep that tradition alive. Dorian, while not technically law enforcement, came to see him as a welcome presence. The endless pancakes and coffee deal they had going on didn’t hurt either.

“Sorry, this one is out of my hands.” Bull laughed gently. “It was a request from Detective Pentaghast. She was tired of your tab being only pancakes and coffee. Apparently she’s worried about protein deficiency, or some crap like that.”

“And where is our lovely Detective?” Dorian teased, tearing off a piece of toast, dipping it into one of the egg yolks and stuffing it into his mouth.

“She took off when you started snoring. I told her that I’d keep an eye on you while you caught up on your beauty sleep.”

“I don’t need the two of you parenting me,” Dorian huffed, taking another bite of egg covered toast. “It’s like I’m a child back home again.”

“I think you like it,” Bull said, nodding significantly at Dorian’s plate. “Based on the way you’re devouring all of the toast.” He smirked, topping off Dorian’s cup of coffee.

“It may have been a while since I’ve had a solid meal.” He looked away from Bull, not knowing why he was embarrassed about admitting it. It was common knowledge that Dorian’s habits weren’t the best. Perhaps saying it out loud made it a bit more real, which was preposterous. It wasn’t like anything was wrong with him, a lot of well adjusted folks had maladjusted sleeping and eating schedules. Diner countertops were much more comfortable than beds anyway.

“Hey, it happens.” Bull nodded. “Law enforcement. It can take a toll, especially here.”

“Well, I’d like to blame my new found occupation for my poor attempts at self care, but unfortunately this is something that has carried over from my youth.” He laughed a bit, playing it up as a joke instead of a bittersweet peak into his past.

“Ah, you wouldn’t be the first workaholic to stumble into this old place. At least you admit it. Good on you, Big Guy.”

“Quite.” Dorian took a sip from his coffee. “Anything interesting, news? Perhaps some juicy gossip heard through the grapevine?”

“Besides you and Detective Pentaghast stumbling through here at six a.m. smelling like corpse?” Bull shrugged. “Not really.” 

Dorian snuck a whiff of the collar of his shirt and winced. “Formaldehyde always finds a way to stick to clothing.”

“Hey, I’d thought you death loving types would be into that stuff,” He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. Tuesday afternoons were usually a slow time for the old diner; the only other person in here was an old man sitting at the far end of the counter.

“Taking a great deal of interest in death and resurrection unfortunately does not make the smell of embalming fluid any more pleasant,” Dorian scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Bull let out the softest of chuckles before heaving a sigh. “Damn shame isn’t it?” He nodded at the TV. The local news was reporting on the recent murder of Justice Celene.

“Did you know her?” 

“Testified for her once or twice,” The Bull nodded. “I didn’t agree with everything she said, but shit, no one deserves to die like that. I’m just glad they arrested the guy who did it.”

“Seriously?” Dorian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Detective Pentaghast and I were with the body a mere,” He checked his watch, “seven hours ago and they’ve already made an arrest?” Dorian couldn’t tell which was more surprising, the fact that department moved so rashly or the fact that they made the arrest without him.

“Apparently they found a smoking gun, eh, so to speak,” Bull chimed.

“ _ Skyhold Police have arrested a man identified as Thom Rainier for the murder of Justice Celene Valmont. We are live with our very own Varric Tethras, who is currently at the scene of the arrest.” _

Dorian hopped off of the stool and walked up closer to where the TV was affixed to the wall of the diner. “Bull, turn up the TV if you could.”

“ _ Thank you Bianca,”  _ said the dwarven journalist, simply known as Varric Tethras AKA the Proverbial Thorn in The Skyhold Police Department’s side.  _ “I am here at the Halamshiral Courthouse with the arresting officer, Detective Cassandra Pentaghast. Detective Pentaghast, can you elaborate on the details of the arrest? How was your team able to move so quickly?” _

The camera zoomed out, revealing a quite exhausted Cassandra, obviously not having gotten much sleep since her and Dorian’s stop at the morgue.

_ “We were able to estimate a time of death between the hours of 8:30 and 9:00 p.m. During this time, Thomas Rainier was on shift and had access to Justice Valmont’s office. After further investigation, we found four bottles of cough medicine identical to the traces found in Justice Valmont’s mug in the suspect’s locker, which led to the arrest.” _

“This doesn’t sound right,” Dorian mumbled, shaking his head.

“Something on your mind, Big Guy?” Bull asked from his place behind the counter.

“What would a low level security guard want to poison a judge for? Even if he somehow knew about Valmont’s allergy to cough medicine, why would he need four bottles of it? Seems excessive, doesn’t it?”

“Now that you mention it, there’s a dozen other ways I would do it.” Bull nodded.

“And if you did, you wouldn’t keep the murder weapon in your locker. Or do it while you’re the only one on shift.”

“What are you saying?” Bull asked, even though Dorian knew that Bull could see exactly where he was going on this.

“I think we’re dealing with a set up.” Dorian drummed his hands on the countertop, a nervous energy flowing through him. “The department made a mistake by not bringing me to the arrest and I’m going to remedy it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another abrupt ending, sorry guys it looks like it's gonna be a trend. Thank you for all of the lovely comments!! I look forward to more of your feedback!


	3. The Hard Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Surprise! I'm not dead! Thanks everyone for your patience!
> 
> I'd like to thank my beta JustJasper for kicking my ass into gear with this chapter!
> 
> Also, special thanks to paperiuni for giving me some last minute notes!
> 
> Enjoy!

If you would’ve told a young Dorian Pavus that ninety percent of being a private detective was making phone calls, he would’ve most likely have rolled his eyes and scoffed at the fact that such a suave and mysterious profession would be reduced to such menial tasks. Dorian Pavus is older now, and whatever was left of his childhood whimsy had been mostly been beaten out of him by the rusty crowbar that is reality. Dorian can say, surprisingly, that he has never been more thankful for being disappointed in recent memory.

He needed to know this case inside and out before even thinking about meeting with Thom Rainier. So the investigation truly started, as most of his cases often do, at his desk, sat in front of his laptop and with a full pot of coffee sitting at the ready.

To be a consultant of any merit, you need a base of operations; an office where you can meet with clients and members of law enforcement in a professional manner. Unfortunately Dorian had barely a sovereign to his name, so the agency he had lovingly dubbed Lucerni Investigations was run out of his apartment for the first year. Well, he still runs the business out of his apartment, but he has a  _ brand _ now. He now had business cards, a door window with the name of his agency emblazoned on the front, a new couch for walk-ins to sit, the whole shebang!

Putting his office to good use, he first phoned ahead to the police station. 

The phone rang, only once, before quickly being answered by a woman with an unusually upbeat disposition. 

“Skyhold Police Department records room, Harding speaking!”

“Ms. Harding,” Dorian spoke sweetly, as if he were trying to convey a smile simply through the sound of his voice, “how is my favorite keeper of the records room doing?”

“Dorian Pavus,” she replied, her voice now seeming more tired and exasperated. “What do you need?”

“Need? Who ever said I needed something? Can’t a chap call a dear friend to say hello?”

“Dorian…”

“Ok,” he lamented, quickly giving up the charade. “I need something. Not a big something but a something, nonetheless. I need everything you have on the Thom Rainier arrest.”

“That is a very big something Dorian Pavus!” She huffed. “Besides, even if I could give you anything, Detective Pentaghast explained how imperative we handle this case quickly and discreetly”

“Harding it isn’t as if I’m some wet behind the ears journalist, I’m under Skyhold’s generous employment if you may recall,” he replied, using status as his last resort. 

“You were, as of this morning _ before  _ Thom Rainier was arrested. I know how protocol works here. If the case wasn’t theoretically closed I’d give you a break, but you’re not so I can’t,” she said, a twinge of disappointment in her voice.

“Lace…” he breathed, deciding to whip out her first name. “I will get you however many lemon tarts it takes for you to give me something, anything about the Thom Rainier arrest.”

“I want thirty.”

“Thirty? What are you going to do with thirty lemon tarts?” 

“I don’t think you’re in any place for asking questions, Pavus. Thirty Lemon tarts.”

“Fine,” Dorian groaned. “the lemon tarts will be gifted to you, in full by Friday. Ironic that someone who works for the police enjoys dallying in extortion.”

Dorian could hear the telltale sign of typing on the other line, assuming that it was Harding pulling up the necessary information.

“I’m sending you an email with some paperwork and the booking information for Rainier, including the location where he’s being held. Anything else you’re gonna have to get from Cassandra...or Rainier himself,” Harding finally chimed. “I’m expecting the tarts by Friday.”

“You’ll have your tarts Harding, on my word as a Detective,” He laughed a bit. “I am in your debt.”

“You’re not even a detective, Pavus. Hell, you’re only half of a private eye if you ask me.”

“Well it is a good thing I didn’t ask you,” he scoffed in mock offense “Goodbye Ms. Harding.”

“See you around, Pavus.” Harding replied, Dorian could practically hear her smile through the phone “Don’t get into too much trouble, ok? Detective Pentaghast would prefer it if you keep yourself in one piece.”

“How well do you know me Ms. Harding?” He chuckled.

“More than I liked to it seems.” She laughed, before hanging up.

The pinging noise coming from his laptop signals that Harding’s email came through. The attachments made it seem that Harding actually gave him a lot, most of it paper work. He read through Rainier’s arrest file, mesmerized by the swirl and looping of his fingerprints. The prints were broad and a bit smudged, as if Rainier furiously pressed each finger onto the paper as if he were trying to tear straight through it. The prints were clumsy, a bit messy and did not seem at all like they’d belong to someone who would use poison as their choice of weapon.

Dorian closed the file, knowing full well that he couldn’t build any sort of defense on “the fingerprints seem dodgy”. Most of the paperwork Harding sent him had been heavily redacted, for security reasons probably. At the bottom of most of the incident reports he noticed a sharp, clean signature that he recognized as Detective Pentaghast’s. 

After a bit perusing Dorian came to the realization that this was mainly pertaining to the actual arrest that took place this morning, as opposed to any witness information or evidence records. Harding, in a rare act of benevolence, did send him a small, seemingly helpful something. A portion of Rainier’s rotation schedule, placing him at the courthouse between the hours of 2:00 p.m to 9:00 p.m. It wasn’t much, not by a long shot. He couldn’t even pull a solid timeline from any of this, Rainier could have been placed in any station during this time.

Taking a drink from the coffee pot, since he had decided that coffee mugs were in fact a waste of time in this line of work, Dorian had a sinking feeling in his stomach that this was going to be a solo case for him. If Harding was being this tight lipped with the paper trail, that means his reach isn’t as far as he’d hoped it would be. The ties he had to the police department were only going to take him so far with Detective Pentaghast being the arresting officer in the case. Even if she wanted to lend a hand, she’d be too tied up in protocal to do much of anything.

With a limited set of resources at his disposal, Dorian was going to have to start from scratch on this one. He took out a pad and paper and wrote down everything he was able to find out about Thom Rainier through a simple google search and any news coverage of the case.

The best place to start would be the arrest itself, looking up every local news report that was covering the case. Most of them were pretty dry, just mentioning the time of arrest and the supposed “duffle bag of cough syrup” found Rainier’s locker. Yet, out of the very boring and just as useless news reports came one that could be more useful than the rest of the journalistic drivel that Dorian found himself sorting through.

“Ah, our old friend,” he mumbled. “Let’s see what Mr. Tethras has to say about all of this.”

“That dwarven windbag?” A voice chimed from behind him.

Dorian startled, clutching his chest, as coffee spilt over  his jeans. “Vishante kaffas, Sera! How did you even get in here?”

“Through the door ya daft tit!” She pointed to the front of his apartment. “I tried to grab your attention but you were just sitting here staring at whatever it is you are.”

“Sera, I’m working. You know, that thing that grown ups do so they can pay rent!”

“I’m plenty grown enough.” She crossed her arms. “I do my own grocery shopping and everything.” 

Sera was an odd one, if Dorian was trying to describe her accurately while simultaneously competing for the title of “the understatement of the century”. She had been living in this building long before he stumbled into it with only the shirt on his back and whatever money he was able to get an old friend to lend him. Dorian never caught her last name; at this point whatever it was he decided wouldn’t seem to fit her right, as she seemed to transcend any form of basic human constructs. Her origins were shrouded in mystery, not only to Dorian, but to Sera herself. As she puts it, one day she wasn’t here and then the next day she was.

“Ah yes, the true markings of an adult. Having the proper skills to navigate the supermarket,” he laughed a bit.

“As if you can talk, Fancypants. Last time we went shopping for bread and eggs you came back with a one pound bag of gummy worms and a birthday cake with the name ‘Jeremy’ on it.”

“We were both piss drunk at the time, therefore it does not count.” He sniffed, going back to reading Tethras’s news report. “Not that I don’t appreciate your  _ sparkling presence _ , Sera, but may I ask why exactly you’re here?”

“It’s too quiet,” she said, as if it explained everything.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here of all places. Instead of-I don’t know, in a park, or wherever you go to cause trouble.”

“No, I mean in  _ here  _ you arse. Usually somebody’s yelling or crying when you’re open, but it’s all quiet.”

Dorian nodded, understanding her predicament. It had been a while since he had an individual client outside of his work with Detective Pentaghast. Mostly suspicious spouses thinking that their significant other is cheating on them or equally suspicious business owners that are wondering who’s stealing from them and why.

“Well Detective Pentaghast’s cases have been taking up a majority of my time. Which means I’m out of the office most days now.” He shrugged, taking another drink out of his coffee pot.

“Well you’re not now.” She leaned up against the corner of Dorian’s desk. “It’s quiet and you’re here. Something’s fishy.”

“Nothing’s fishy about doing solo research,” Dorian huffed, moving some things around so Sera had room to sit comfortably on his desk. “It’s the bulk of Detective work, unfortunately.”

Sera makes a long, slow farting noise with her mouth. “Whatever.” She looks over to his laptop screen, trying to sneak a peak. “So, whatcha find?”

“Curious, Sera?” Dorian looked up at her, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Well if it’s got you all up in arms it must be worth lookin’ at.”

“I wish I could agree with you, but it’s mostly useless local news stories. I was foolish to think I could gather anything of value from them, but they seem just as in the dark as I am.”

Sera cocked her head. “Well why are you lookin at them?” 

“As opposed to what? Not looking at them?”

“Don’t be daft, I mean asking your guy. You’re looking at big, broad and broody right? The guard.”

“Odd choice of words. I’d thought you’d be the type to call him a murderer, like everyone else has been.”

“I may not be a fancy pants detective like you, Dorian, but I know how things work. You wouldn’t be here if he was a murderer. You’d be out getting pissed with Pentaghast.”

Dorian nodded, “An accurate observation.”

“So, instead of sitting here with your thumb in your arse. You could go and talk to your guy.”

“You still haven’t explained what you mean by that,” Dorian sighed, exasperated.

“Broody!  He was there, right? He might know something.”

“I’d have to slip in there unnoticed. If it got back to Detective Pentaghast that I was running an independent investigation on one of her cases, it would most likely end with my head as the centerpiece for the next department luncheon.”

She shrugged. “So wear a hat or somethin’.”

“Alright, say I do get into where Rainier’s being held without alerting suspicion, it wouldn’t matter because if he’s innocent like he says, he will probably know as much as I do currently, which is less than nothing. If not, then his testimony will be fabrication.”

The second long farting noise Sera makes with her mouth is even more impressive than the first.  “Who cares? You said you got nothin’ right? You got nothin’ to lose then by going!”

Dorian looked back over his notes. They were sparse, barely filling half a page. Sera was right (which happened more often than one would think), he was going to get nowhere by sitting here. He needed to go visit Rainier, if not to get info off of him, then to see him. There was only so much a mugshot and fingerprints could tell him.

“He’s being held at Redcliffe Penitentiary,” Dorian said, finally relenting.

Sera let out a loud triumphant laugh “I’ll lend you a hat!”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to the squad (you know who you are) thank you all so much for inspiring me to strive to be the best that I can be. You have given this young, terrified author so much love and support, it's time for me to give something in return!!


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